


red isn't so little

by heytherelittlered (mehira)



Series: fighting the night [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF!Stiles, Gen, Swearing, Violence, dark!stiles, not the canon season 3 alpha pack, possibly sterek eventually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-26
Updated: 2013-10-14
Packaged: 2017-11-27 01:45:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 13,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/656652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mehira/pseuds/heytherelittlered
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Stiles needs to blow off some steam, it's not like he's hurting anyone who doesn't deserve it. He won't be able to keep it a secret forever.</p>
<p>You don't push an already broken man; it won't end well for you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He thought he was alone, free to let the façade slip that he wore every day. He’d worn the mask for so long, he almost didn’t know how to be himself.

Everyone thought he was the spastic, geeky sidekick. No one realized it was mostly just a ploy, a way of dealing. They never realized how smart he really was, or how dark. The violence he’s capable of is really astounding, not that anyone he knows is aware of that. He’s never had to use it in their vicinity, never lost control in their presence. His dad had an idea, but had no idea how bad it really was. He supposed he still gave off some sort of vibe because he’d never really been bullied, contrary to what his supposed personality type would suggest.

He could take a hit and knew how to deal with injuries; it was a necessity when getting into those kinds of things. When Gerard took him, he kept his head and took the beating. He couldn’t afford for anyone to figure out his secret.


	2. Chapter 2

Between Gerard, the kanima, and Peter coming back, he was reaching his breaking point. He needed to let off some steam which is what, at eleven thirty on a Friday night, he was getting in his trusty blue jeep and heading to the shady part of a town several miles away.

He parked his jeep a ways away from his hunting ground, where it was unlikely to be damaged, and hopped out He drew the red hood up over his head, obscuring his face. Rolling a modified lacrosse stick in his hands, he started off to the area he knew he could find trouble. He happened upon two thugs trying to mug a young woman and dispatched them without a word, handing the purse back to her and offering her a hand. After helping her up, he set off again, searching for something, anything, that could be a challenge. Something to really fight.

As he made his way down another alley, a figure slunk out of the shadows toward him. “What have we got here, little red?” A little boy who thinks to take on the world?” The figure mocked, her eyes flashing ultraviolet.

“Maybe not the world, but I can definitely take you.” He smirked, twirling the stick in his hands. Even in this state, he couldn’t keep still.

“You seem awfully confident for a little boy confronted with the stuff of nightmares.” She circled closer, but remained out of reach of the stick.

He gave a harsh laugh. “You know nothing of my nightmares. Never assume you are the scariest thing your opponent has faced.” He moved quickly toward her, giving her a swift whack in the ribs before moving away, staying on the balls of his feet.

Her face twisted in a snarl. “Walk softly and carry a big stick?”

“Not so softly, but the principle’s similar.” He moved again, this time catching her across the face. Where she’d been struck began to smoke. “C’mon, wolfy. You’re not making this much of a challenge.”

“Sorry I’m not exciting enough for you. That’s a neat trick. Wolfsbane?”

“And a mountain ash core for added supernatural protection.”

“Clever boy. But you’re not a hunter, are you?”

“Not in the sense that you’re asking.”

“Hmm.” She lunged at him. He managed to dodge most of the attack, but still caught some claws in the shoulder. He twisted, bringing the stick down on the back of her neck. Moving away from her, he shifted to protect his injured shoulder. As blood dripped on the pavement, he watched the wolf with a wary eye.

“I think we shall both live to fight another day, Red,” She called as she vanished into the shadows.

“Shit,” he cursed, switching the stick to his injured arm so he could apply pressure to the wound. “I’m gonna have to stitch it.”

He made his way back to the jeep. Putting down the back gate, he situated himself on the tailgate and pulled out a very well stocked first aid kit. He slipped off his hoodie and cut through his destroyed shirt. Gritting his teeth, he disinfected the gouges before stitching his wounds closed. That done, he covered his handiwork with some bandaging and pulled on a spare shirt. He jumped lightly from the back and slammed it shut before walking to the driver’s side and hopping in.

The conflict had settled him enough that he should be able to hide this side of him for a while.

Arriving back at the house, Stiles made his way slowly inside, taking special care to avoid jostling his injured shoulder.

“Stiles.” The sheriff looked up at Stiles’ entrance. After seeing his posture, his eyes narrowed. “Were you out on one of your trips?"

“Yeah, I left your jurisdiction. Don’t worry.”

“That’s not what I was worried about. Jesus, Stiles, what happened?” He got up and walked toward Stiles.

“One of the attempted muggers had a knife, caught me in the shoulder a bit. I stitched it up. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

John wrapped his son in a hug, making sure to avoid the injured shoulder. “I’m glad you’re okay. Get some sleep, alright? I know you haven’t been sleeping.”

“I’ve just been wound so tight. I’m hoping that tonight will have helped.”

John pushed him gently toward the stairs. “Go on then. And keep an eye on that shoulder. Let me know if it looks like it needs attention.”

Stiles gave him a wry smile and started up the stairs. “I will.”

He entered his room and swapped his jeans for sweats. Checking his shoulder, he noted the bleeding had mostly stopped. Sighing, he strode into the bathroom to swap the bandages and apply more antibiotic cream. Deciding to wear a shirt in case of any unexpected werewolf visitors, he slipped back into his room and dropped gently onto his bed. He rubbed at his eyes, his mind quiet in a way it only was after a trip; he drifted quickly off to sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Went with the fandom favorite "John" for the Sheriff.


	3. Chapter 3

Early the next morning, Stiles woke to his phone blaring _The Wolf_. “What do you want, Derek? It’s freaking early. And Saturday.”

“I just thought you might want to know about the pack that entered our territory last night.”

Stiles jerked upright in bed, wincing as he jostled his shoulder. “What?!”

“Exactly what I said, Stiles,” Derek responded through gritted teeth.

“How many? What do they want? Why can we never catch a break?”

“I can’t answer any of your questions. I’ll let you know when I know more.”

“Thanks for actually telling me what’s going on.”

The line clicked dead as Derek disconnected the call. “Bye to you too,” Stiles grumbled. Stiles scrubbed a hand over his face. “With my luck, my secret’s coming out.”

He rolled out of bed. A bath would help with the soreness. After the bath, he started his training regimen. A tough night was no excuse to slack off. A combination of martial arts, yoga, and weight lifting, he designed it to help him maximize strength, agility, and technique. Weekends were longer training days since he didn’t have to worry about school or pretending to fail at lacrosse. Seriously, he’s played since he was six, how people haven’t realized he’s pretending to suck still baffles him.

About halfway through, his phone rang again.

“Yes, Scott,” Stiles answered.

“There’s a new pack in town,” Scott began.

“Yeah, I know. Derek called me,” Stiles interrupted.

“He wants us to present a unified front. There’s a meeting at three. Make sure you’re there beforehand.”

“And you’re going along with this? Last I checked, you were all ‘Derek-is-bad-and-not-my-alpha’”

“But this is something we can work together on. I thought you’d be happy.”

“About what? And I’m not a wolf, what does this have to do with me?”

“That I’m being cooperative and just because you’re not a wolf doesn’t mean you’re not pack. You’re in my pack right?”

“Yeah, sure buddy. What about Allison? Doesn’t she count?”

“It’s more complicated, especially with her being a hunter. She can’t be at the meeting or she might provoke the other pack unnecessarily.”

“I guess I’ll be there later then. Is it at the house or that abandoned train station that exists for literally no reason?”

“The house, because we have to have the meeting at the creepiest, most depressing and out of the way place possible.”

“Right, wouldn’t want to jeopardize Derek’s rep of being a creeper.”

Scott laughed, “Alright, Stiles. See you later, and come prepared for trouble. Just in case.” The call disconnected.

“As if we don’t have enough trouble already,” he sighed and resumed his workout. The injuries were no excuse to slack off early, neither was the impending trouble.

* * *

 

After concluding his workout a while later, he took a quick shower before dressing for battle. He forewent the red hoodie in favor of a black one in case the shewolf was among the pack. He also applied a bit of wolfsbane solution designed to render his scent unremarkable. Thankfully, his father was working this weekend, so there was no reason to lie about his whereabouts.

He arrived at the house around two-thirty; everyone else was already there. “About time you showed up,” Erica teased.

“Hey, all I was told was be here before three. I met the requirement,” Stiles joked back, pulling the lacrosse stick out of the back and making his way to the porch.

“That’s what you’re choosing to defend yourself against the alphas?” Isaac questioned, eying the stick.

“Go with what I know, right? And what do you mean alphas plural?”

Derek let out a heavy sigh and glared at Isaac. “It’s a pack of alphas. They were in the territory briefly sometime around the showdown with Gerard, and now they’re back.”

“Well do you know what they want?”

“No, but it’s probably not pleasant considering the state Erica and Boyd were left after their run in.”

“So that’s where you went missing!” Scott interjected.

“Yeah, I don’t recommend that experience,” Erica grimaced.

“To recap: there’s a pack of scary, sadistic, alpha werewolves on their way here to do something probably not good,”

“Understatement,” Boyd muttered.

Stiles glared. “Is that all?” He finished.

“Sounds about right,” Derek answered, clapping him on the shoulder.

“I’m the breakable human, why am I here?”

“You’re in Scott’s pack,” Derek began.

“Because that answers everything,” Stiles retorted, “I’m not exactly a help in a werewolf fight. I’m more likely to injure myself!”

“Do pack and united front mean nothing to you?” Derek asked.

“Stiles,” he pointed to himself, “is a fragile human. He is the one most likely to end up dead from this encounter.”

“Look, it’s not like we’re sending you out to the front lines, they’ll have to get through all of us before they get to you.”

“Fine, he huffed, but if I get killed, I’m haunting your ass!”

Derek rolled his eyes and gestured for Stiles to move back behind the pack up on the porch. “You will stay behind the pack unless it is _absolutely necessary_ for you to move out of protection.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Not sure why you act like that’s really a possibility.” He settled himself on the porch, leaning against the doorframe. After a moment’s hesitation, he flicked the hood up, hiding his face.

The pack braced for the imminent arrival of the alphas that were sure to make their lives much more difficult.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note on the one pack vs. two pack thing: There's really only one pack, but it's easier for Derek to just allow Scott to say he's separate rather than arguing about it all the time.

It wasn’t long before alphas started slipping out of the trees. The shewolf Stiles had faced stood at the head of the group of seven. Just his luck, he managed to pick a fight with the alpha of alphas.

“Alpha Hale,” she purred.

“You have me at a disadvantage; you know who I am, but I don’t know who you are,” Derek replied smoothly. Stiles had to stop his jaw from dropping. Where did this Derek come from?

“Catherine Feinsilver, alpha of the alpha pack.”

“Now how does that work exactly? An alpha of alphas.”

“When the pack formed, the consensus was that I would lead, and it has remained that way, though not for a lack of trying by some.” Her eyes flashed ultraviolet.

“So you don’t remain unchallenged, but you remain in charge?”

“Precisely.”

“And what is your business with us?”

“I am in the market for a… partner of sorts, and we’ve heard interesting things about you. You killed your own uncle, your last living family member,”

“To be fair, he didn’t stay dead,” Derek interrupted.

“No matter,” She responded dismissively, “You have also dealt with a kanima as of late, and were somewhat indirectly responsible for the death of an Argent matriarch. I want you in my pack; we could use your ruthlessness.”

“And if I say no?”

“Then we will have to find some way to persuade you. It may or may not be pleasant.” She trailed a finger down his chest. Derek stiffened slightly. She reminded him of Kate.

“You will have, ohhh, three days, that seems sufficient, to decide if you want to do this the easy way or the hard way. The hard way will be more fun for me, but you may not agree. Choose wisely. ” She gave him a feral grin and the pack melted back into the woods.

* * *

 

After a few minutes, the tension seeped out of the wolves.

“What would it mean for the pack if you left?” Jackson asked.

“You would be left without an alpha. It would make you weaker. There’s also no guarantee they wouldn’t just kill you anyway.”

“So you just leaving isn’t really an option then,” Scott grumbled.

“That probably wouldn’t be wise.”

“So what do we do?” Isaac questioned.

“I don’t know.” Derek shrugged. “We can’t take on seven alphas, but I can’t leave you undefended.” He rubbed his face tiredly. “There isn’t a good option.”

“What if we left without you? Would they track us down?” Scott inquired.

“I don’t know, Scott! This kind of pack shouldn’t even be able to exist!”

“If I may interrupt,” Peter began, “from what I’ve heard of this pack, none who oppose them survive. It might be in our best interests to submit.”

“What do you get out of that, Peter?” Stiles glared.

“Your glare is getting better. Derek giving you lessons?” Derek let out a low growl at Peter’s remark. “Now, now relax, nephew. What do I get out of this? I get to survive. I much prefer being alive; death is quite boring.”

“Can we continue this meeting elsewhere? Not that this isn’t a lovely meeting spot.” Stiles gestured to the house. “But I’m hungry and also tired from being woken up this morning.”

“Where do you suggest we go, Stiles?” Derek asked.

“We can go back to my house. Dad’s on shift until seven.”

“Fine, we’ll pick up pizza on the way.”

The pack made for their cars and rolled out. Stiles was the last one to leave, taking a few moments to gather himself. He couldn’t break, couldn’t snap. The consequences of that would be too much. If the pack knew his true nature, well, he probably wouldn’t be pack anymore. He took a deep breath and shifted into gear, pulling out of the drive.

* * *

 

Throughout his trip back, he pondered the best way to deal with this new threat. Above all he needed to protect his dad. Just because he has a dark, violent core, doesn’t mean he has no morals. It was simply that he had his own special kind of morals, at the top of which is family first.

He could go after the alpha pack. Circle their hideout with mountain ash and pick them off. He’d need to get mountain ash though, and wolfsbane bullets, and a gun if the bullets didn’t fit any of his. He could just go after them, but that’d probably end in his death and not much else. He couldn’t involve the pack without exposing himself, and his dad didn’t know enough about his nature or the truth of what’s been going on so that was out. If he involved Chris, he still had the problem of his secret getting out.

It would have to be the first option. Breaking into Deaton’s would be easy enough; he knows where the spare key is kept. The Argent’s place would be more difficult. There were probably guns stashed in the cars and some of the cars were parked on the street. Breaking into cars was relatively simple, especially when compared to breaking into the fortress that is the Argent’s house. If he were a good person, he wouldn’t know that.

Three days was not a lot of time to plan. He didn’t even know where they were hiding, but he could start making the preparations. Waiting wasn’t ideal, but he didn’t have much choice.

He turned to take the long way home so he could swing by Deaton’s office. He snagged the key from its hiding place and entered the office. The cabinet where Deaton kept his whatever-he-is supplies was locked up, but Stiles simply pulled out his lockpicking set. He used to time himself to make it a challenge, so in about thirty seconds he had the cabinet open, despite its deceptively tricky lock. He let out a low whistle, “Doc’s been holding out on us.” He took in the array of substances and solutions staring up at him. He removed two large bags of mountain ash. Glancing at the other items, he recognized a few of the wolfsbane plants and filched a couple of sprigs, wrapping them carefully in paper towels. They could come in handy.

He carefully locked up and carried his loot out to the jeep. Opening the trunk, he lifted the false bottom to reveal a hidden arsenal reminiscent of that of the Wincesters. He was proud of it, though that was probably another tick in the column of why he’s a bad person. He tucked the sprigs of wolfsbane into a side compartment and settle the mountain ash into the main section.

The compartment was lead-lined, and after discovering werewolves, he lined it with a modified coating of the scent hiding wolfsbane solution. He shut the lid and slammed the trunk shut before hopping back in and peeling out. He needed to make up at least some of the time spent at Deaton’s.

He made another stop at the grocery store, picking up soda and some junk as a cover. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note on Derek's information sharing: He's trying to be a good alpha by making sure his pack is informed of the dangers and threats.
> 
> Oh, and we'll get to some more exciting stuff soon, I'm just taking care of some of the details ;)


	5. Chapter 5

He arrived at his house, beating Derek and the betas. He dragged the food into the kitchen and began unpacking.

“Need a hand?” Scott asked, ducking into the kitchen.

“I’m good with the food, but can you get the plates?” Scott snagged a stack of plates of the cabinet over the counter and set them on the table before bringing one back in to Stiles.

“We’re here and bearing pizza,” Erica called as she waltzed into the house; the boys trailing behind her.

“Go ahead and put it on the table, snack food and drinks are in the kitchen. Cups are in the cabinet over the sink.” He grabbed a cup and filled up on Mountain Dew before tossing some Cheetos on his plate and making his way into the dining room.  “Meat lovers?” He peeked in the boxes. “You guys are so predictable.” He plopped into a chair and snagged two pieces.

“Mountain Dew. Really, Stiles? You need more caffeine?” Derek smirked.

“My house, my decisions. Besides, I’m the one who’s going to be up all night researching a way out of this mess, so you can deal.”

Derek glared. “Somehow I doubt you’re going to be the one that saves everyone.” Stiles face contorted in mock hurt.

“I dunno, Boss. He’s saved you a couple times,” Erica teased.

“Look, I want to know what the plan is so I can leave. I have better things to do than hang with you losers,” Jackson sniffed.

“Oh knock off the posturing, Jackson. You asked for this, well not this specifically, but close enough,” Stiles snapped.

“Whoa, chill, man,” Scott appeased, placing a hand on his shoulder as he dropped into the chair next to him.

“Well excuse me for being on edge about this whole situation.”

“There don’t seem to be a lot of options,” Boyd rumbled.

“No.” Derek made a face. “There aren’t. I can’t see giving myself up ending well for the rest of you.”

“You don’t care what happens to you?” Isaac asked, his voice small.

Derek sighed, “It’s complicated, but I would put you, the pack, ahead of myself.”

“You’re maturing, nephew,” Peter purred.

“Shut up, Peter,” Stiles and Derek barked unison, glaring at Peter. Peter stifled a round of laughter.

“Soo our options are fight and die or surrender and die?” Scott asked.

“Seems that way,” Derek responded.

“What if we asked the Argents for help? The alphas are certainly a bigger threat than us, and they’ve broken the code.”

Derek tensed and scowled. “I don’t like it, but that may be our only real option. You and I can go speak to Chris after we’re done here.” Scott nodded in agreement.

“Can we really trust them after everything that’s happened?” Erica questioned angrily.

“You may have forgotten, but Chris was the one who enabled you to escape the basement and he also came to our aid against Gerard.” Derek replied evenly.

“Allison was out of her mind with grief and was manipulated by Gerard. She’s trying to put herself back together and atone for what she’s done,” Scott responded hotly.

“Okay. Fine.” She raised her hands in surrender. “But if we get stabbed in the back, I get to say ‘I told you so’ assuming I’m still alive.”

The pack continued to eat in relative silence. Stiles eyed the werewolves as they finished off nine pizzas. “If any of you want to stick around, I’m marathoning Christopher Nolan’s Batman Trilogy.”

“Scott and I are heading out. I think I speak for everyone when I say that Peter will not be staying.” Peter sighed heavily, but trailed out the front door after Derek and Scott.

“I don’t think anyone expects me to stick around longer than I have to,” Jackson sneered, stalking out.

“Don’t worry, Batman, I’ll stick around.” Erica grinned.

“Cool, Catwoman. Boyd? Isaac?”

“My grandma’s expecting me, sorry,” Boyd replied.

“I’ll hang here. I’ve only seen Batman Begins.”

“Blasphemy!” Erica crowed.

“I’m gonna pop some popcorn, go ahead and set up the first one,” Stiles directed.

Erica scanned the DVD collection in the living room, gleefully pulling Nolan’s trilogy of the shelf.

Stiles pulled the air popper off the refrigerator, not only was it healthier, but it tasted better. He buzzed with the need to act, to protect his dad, his friends, but he couldn’t act. Not now. With Scott and Derek at the Argents, he’d be detected when stealing bullets. Although he might not have to steal if he could convince Chris he needed it for protection; he was the Sheriff’s kid, of course he could shoot. Maybe Derek would even think to get one for him, though probably not.

He poured melted butter over the three bowls of popcorn and made his way to the living room. He passed off two of the bowls and plopped into the middle of the couch. Isaac and Erica curled up on either side. “Have you seen the CollegeHumor Batman sketches?” Stiles asked.

“No B and C? It’s a trap!” Erica quoted, her voice husky before dissolving into giggles.

“I don’t understand,” Isaac spoke, his brows furrowed.

“Isaac, you are pop culturally deprived.” Stiles shook his head. “We will enlighten you after our marathon.”

“Okay.” Isaac shrugged, settling closer to Stiles.

* * *

 

“Only the good die young,” Erica sighed as the credits rolled for the Dark Knight.

“I know,” Stiles groaned, “Heath Ledger was awesome.”

“Dude, that was so good!” Isaac exclaimed.

“We’ve still got one more.” Erica grinned. “Time for Catwoman!”

* * *

 

“Look what he did for Alfred,” Isaac sobbed, “it was just like his vision.” Stiles ran a hand through Isaac’s curls, attempting to comfort him.

“I still can’t believe he actually ran off with Selina, or that she gave up her Catwoman ways,” Erica lamented.

“Well we don’t know she gave them up, how would they have any money?” Stiles pointed out.

“Bruce probably had offshore accounts,” Erica argued.

“True,” Stiles conceded. “John Blake is going to be the next Batman? How would they play that?”

“I’m not sure, but we still need to show Isaac the sketches.” She nudged him.

“Right!” Stiles shouted, jumping up to retrieve his laptop.

**[Riddler](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SVW6SH2bjYQ) | [Scarecrow](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YpzKMr4fJwg) | [Two-Face](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MTLp14MKDDU)**

The Sheriff came in to the three teens rolling around and laughing hysterically on the couch.

“Stiles, what’s going on?” John asked cautiously.

“We… were watching… the CollegeHumor… Batman skits,” he wheezed.

“Well that explains everything,” John remarked drily, rolling his eyes and hanging up his jacket. “Nice to see you with someone other than Scott.”

“Don’t worry, Scott was here earlier. And I take offense to that!” Stiles protested indignantly.

“It’s kind of true though,” Isaac interjected.

“Isaac, I’m glad to see you outside of the station. I’m sorry that Jackson’s false statement had you on the run.”

He shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. You were just doing your job and it’s not your fault Jackson’s a dick that fed you lies.”

John nodded. “Erica, you’ve been looking better lately.”

“Thanks.” She smiled. “My doctor switched my medication and it’s helped a lot. I haven’t had any recent episodes, knock on wood.” She tapped the side table.

“So are you kids sticking around or heading out?”

“I think Isaac and I are heading out. Did you want to come, Stiles?”

“Nah, I’m good. Maybe another time.” They each hugged him before heading out, waving goodbye to the sheriff.

“They’re good kids.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Are you really in for the night?”

“I think so. But if I get restless, I may go out.”

John nodded. “So what else did you guys do?”

“We marathoned Christopher Nolan’s Batman Trilogy. Did you know Isaac and only seen Batman Begins?!”

“No, I didn’t know that. I’m sure his life is much better for you having remedied that.” He gave Stiles a wry smile. “It’s nice to see you have some normalcy back.”

“For a given kind of normalcy.”

“Isn’t that true for any normalcy?”

“Don’t get philosophical on me now, Dad,” Stiles grumbled.

John laughed, “Who else would?”

“No one. That’s the point. I rule the arguments.”

“Sure you do, kid.”

“You were late getting home, your shift ended at seven, it’s almost ten.” Stiles pinned his father was a piercing gaze.

“I got caught up. You we’re still trying to recover from that incident with Daehler. We still need to hire more deputies.”

“You shouldn’t work yourself to death in the meantime.”

“I’m not and it’s still only temporary.”

Stiles nodded, deep in thought. “I’m headed up. Do me a favor, if you see any weirdly large wild animals, empty your entire clip into it.”

“Something’s going on?”

“Yeah, but it’s not really my place to tell. I just want you to be safe.”

“Okay, son. Don’t make me regret trusting you on this, and I’m going to be expecting an explanation soon.”

“I know. I just can’t right now. There are a lot of different pieces in play.” He started up the stairs. The alpha pack needed to be dealt with so they could tell his dad. He couldn’t continue to be in the dark when he could be targeted because of his position and relation to Stiles. He set his laptop back on the desk and pulled a few books from under his bed. He’d ordered them from amazon, guess they do sell everything from a to z, but hadn’t had the time and privacy to read through them thoroughly.

One appeared to be a kind of mystical cookbook; that was where he’d learned the solution to disguise his scent. Another seemed like the bestiary, but in Polish, which he was fluent in, as opposed to Archaic Latin. The third book listed herbs and their effects on different supernatural creatures. The best part was that it included pictures of each of the plants and where they tended to grow naturally. The dangers to humans were given as well, as a caution he supposed.

According to the third book, some of the wolfsbane from Deaton’s was hallucinogenic and some would cause excruciating pain with any contact. Scott had said Victoria tried to kill him with a vaporizer and wolfsbane. If he could trap the alpha back indoors and flood the building with fumes, it would give him a much needed advantage. Acquiring a vaporizer shouldn’t be too difficult; he had a decent fake and they were legal in California. The only problem was that he still didn’t know where the alphas were hiding. Having a plan, but not knowing where to carry it out was so frustrating.

He flipped through the cookbook, looking for any concoctions that could be of use. Several looked promising, including on for accelerated healing. The healing concoction was relatively simple, requiring only three ingredients: mint, ginger, and lavender. He needed to follow the instructions exactly in order for the effects to occur, but once he got it down, he could probably play around with it like he did with the scent solution.

There was another that would supposedly cause extreme pain to werewolves, much like the strain of wolfsbane from Deaton’s. He could probably fashion a modified grenade with it inside. It would require azalea, moonseed, amanita ocreata, and lupine. He could probably find the amanita ocreata and lupine in the preserve, azaleas could easily be picked up from a nursery, and moonseed might be a tad difficult, but he’d manage.

He was sure most of the pack would appreciate the one that allowed werewolves to experience drunk-like effects. There were several concoctions that were supposed to affect other supposedly mythical creatures. He sighed, guessing he could add succubi, incubi, sphinx, witches, and vampires to his list of supernatural creatures that actually existed. Fantastic. The fact that he even had such a list is just ridiculous.

He wondered if making what could be considered potions made him a witch. Probably not, though Deaton did say something about him having a ‘spark.’ Many of the concoctions required an inordinate amount of patience and concentration. You wouldn’t think it, but between the adderall and necessity, he was able to successfully create them.

The healing concoction could be made rather quickly, the pain one would take a bit longer and he still needed to figure out where he could get moonseed. He blinked tiredly, as much as he’d like to stay up longer and figure everything out, he needed to sleep or he’d be likely to miss something. There isn’t anything else he can do tonight anyway.

He glanced at his clock, the red numbers stared back at him: 01:00 am, it was later than he’d thought. He changed into sweats and flopped on his bed, wincing as he jostled his injuries. He hoped the healing potion would prove successful; it’d be nice to not worry so much about injuries. He buried his face in his pillows and drifted quickly off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I included three of the Batman CollegeHumor video links in the story.


	6. Chapter 6

He jerked awake, breathing heavily. He placed a hand on his chest, trying to calm his racing heart. Just a dream. It was just a really horrible, gut wrenching dream. He blinked rapidly, trying to rid himself of the image of his father, broken and bleeding on the ground, the pack scattered around him, and the alphas standing triumphantly, cackling evilly. He slowly managed to get his breathing and heart rate under control. He sank back into his pillows, taking a few moments to gather himself.

He took a deep breath and rolled out of bed, standing carefully. He grabbed the supernatural cookbook and made his way downstairs; he wanted to be in peak condition for what was to come.

Glancing at the stove clock, he realized it was only nine. He shrugged; it just meant an early start. He carefully measured ¾ cup of water and poured it into a small saucepan. He turned the stove on to medium heat. While waiting for the water to boil, he measured out three grams mint, five grams ginger, and two grams lavender. As the water came to a boil, he added first the mint and stirred clockwise thrice with a wooden spoon. Second, he added the ginger, stirring five times counter-clockwise. Finally, he added the ginger and stirred seven times clockwise. He then allowed the solution to boil for another 90 seconds before removing it from heat.

He wandered back upstairs to get dressed and paused for just a second before picking out a navy blue hoodie (sue him, he likes hoodies) and jogging back downstairs. The solution had turned a deep violet color. “Guess it worked,” he muttered, judging it as cool. He poured the concoction into a glass and downed it in one go.

In hindsight, that wasn’t the best decision. He gasped and hunched over, gripping the counter as pain racked his body. He couldn’t breathe; black spots began dancing in his vision. He collapsed to the floor, frantically trying to get oxygen. The pain intensified as he listed sideways, having lost control of his body. Tears filled his eyes as he lay there out of control. If this was anything like Erica felt when she seized, then she’s much stronger than anyone gives her credit for.

Suddenly, it all vanished; the pain stopped; the spots cleared; he could breath; he had control of his limbs. He sat up slowly, still trained from the lovely experience. He brushed a hand over his shoulder: no pain. Quickly, he shoved his shirt to the side and ripped off the bandages… the wound had completely disappeared. He pressed gently against his ribs, noting the absence of tenderness. He gingerly got to his feet, snatching up the book as he went. He flipped to the next page.

“For moderate wounds, ingest ¼ cup. For life-threatening wounds, ingest ½ cup. For immediate, but excruciatingly painful and traumatic healing, ingest full batch. Applying a small amount directly to wounds will heal the wounds almost immediately.”

“Probably should have read that first,” He muttered, “it’s rather strange.” He sighed and went about brewing three more batches, bottling each separately after they cooled. It would work on humans and werewolves alike… He wonders if it would cure wolfsbane poisoning, something to test. Maybe if he got the chance, he could test it on one of the alphas, no sense in wasting the opportunity. He took the three bottles out to the jeep and placed them in his ever growing first aid kit.

His stomach let out a loud growl. “Probably should actually eat something before heading out,” he muttered. Walking back into the kitchen, he poured himself a bowl of granola and dumped some vanilla yogurt on top. When he finished, he rinsed off the dishes and left them in the sink. He pulled out his phone to call Derek, he needed to know what happened with the Argents, and he loathes to admit it, but Derek’s probably more reliable than Scott on that matter.

It rang with twice before Derek answered with, “What do you want, Stiles. It’s only ten-thirty.”

“Punctuation, wolfman, and it’s not like you haven’t been up for hours. How’d everything go with Argent?”

“Somewhat surprisingly well: he’ll help us when the time comes. He also have me two clips of monkshood laced bullets for your dad. I know you’re worried about him.”

“That’s great, but what about me? Don’t I get any protection from werewolves?”

“Stiles, no one is going to let you near a gun.”

“In case you were wondering, I’ve been shooting since I was nine. My dad’s the sheriff, you really think I don’t know how to shoot?”

“Not gonna fly. You’ve got your bat and the pack.”

“Something long-range would be nice.”

“No.”

“Fine. But when this is over, we’re telling my dad.”

“He should know.”

“Good. Glad we agree. What’s the plan in the meantime?”

“The pack will be training, but we can’t do much but wait.”

“Any clue as to where the Alphas are hiding out?”

“None, they’ve been hiding their scent.”

“When can I get the bullets from you?”

“I left them under the passenger seat in your jeep.”

“Awesome.”

“For _your dad_ , Stiles.”

“As if I’d let him be unprotected and unprepared,” Stiles scoffed.

“Don’t get killed,” Derek said shortly, hanging up.

“You too,” Stiles replied to dead air, shaking his head and slipping his phone back into his pocket. He grabbed his keys off the entryway table and made sure to lock the door on his way out. As he hopped in, he noted the clips were indeed where Derek said he left them. Nodding to himself, he turned the jeep over and made for the Argents, parking a few blocks away and around the corner.

He snagged his slimjim and a dark blue backpack and did his best to walk unobtrusively the rest of the way to the Argents. Using an app he designed, he disabled the car alarm. He gently finagled the slimjim in the window and searched for the sweetspot. Silently cheering to himself as it caught, he pulled it upwards, unlocking the door.

He reached in and popped the trunk before walking to the back. He rummaged around in the trunk, suppressing a triumphant noise as he struck gold. He removed three clips for a Glock 37 and two for a Beretta 92FS as well as three for a .30-06 Springfield. Why the felt it necessary to keep so much ammo in their cars was beyond him, but right now he was simply thankful for it. He eyed the Smith & Wesson M&P 15 Sport, running his hand caringly down the barrel, but decided against it; it’d be far more obvious the rifle was missing than the ammo.

He gently shut the trunk and went to lock the door. He slung his bag over his shoulder and walked casually back the way he came, flicking his hood up as he went. His next stop was the station to make sure his dad was armed.

* * *

 

Walking into the station, he nodded to Marla at the front desk before walking into his dad’s office. “Hey, Dad,” Stiles began, “remember what I said about shooting large animals?”

“Yeah, what’s this about Stiles?”

“Use these.” He placed the two clips on the desk, avoiding the question.

“Stiles,” John said warningly.

“It should be over in a few days and we can explain, but you wouldn’t believe me if I told you. In the meantime, I need to make sure you’re safe. That’s what those are for.” He nodded at the clips.

John sighed and reached for the clips to reload his service weapon. “I hope you know how sketchy this is.”

“I know, Dad. I know.”

“I’m trusting you on this, don’t make me regret it.”

Stiles nodded and turned to leave. “Be safe, Dad,” He called on his way out the door.

“You too, kid,” John replied softly, as Stiles was already gone. “I just wish you’d tell me what was going on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long. Time has been so weird; I can't believe it's been almost a month since I updated. I'll try to be better with the next update. I know pretty much where I want to take this, it's just a matter of getting there.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long. I hope you enjoy the update :)

The wolves aren’t the only ones who know how to make use of abandoned structures. For reasons unknown to Stiles, there was an empty warehouse placed on the opposite end of his neighborhood that contained a hidden basement. Stiles had turned that basement into a lab that while it looked like a meth lab, was actually reminiscent of the Bat Cave. He’d installed relatively strong cases to store extra artillery and his pet projects.

Moving up on the list of projects, was engineering hollow-point rowan-mountain ash bullets filled with various strains of aconite. He was still looking for a plausible way to actually manufacture them. In the meantime, the rowan would be soaked in a solution of the pain causing wolfsbane. He tossed three sprigs into a large hot water bath held at a boil for eleven minutes. Leaving the wolfsbane in the solution, he added three one-by-twos to steep.

He pulled out his laptop and praised the gods for mobile wifi. Going through hi bookmarks on guns and bullets, he determined he would need a bench grinder, a bench saw, and a lathe in order to accomplish his goals. All the tools could be purchased from Home Depot or Lowes’, but he’d have to make sure he had enough cash. There was no way he’d be able to finish them by the Alphas’ deadline.

He banged his head on the table a few times before going to inspect his arsenal. Taking into consideration the amount of heavy fighting that would be going down. He pulled his [Dragonfly Tanto](http://www.coldsteel.com/Product/88DT/DRAGONFLY_O_TANTO.aspx) and a modified long pole from the rack hanging from the wall. As much as he liked his baseball bat, he was going to need weapons in both hands for this fight. Each weapon was light enough to be wielded with only one hand, and it was easier for him to wield two short range weapons than one short range weapon and a long range weapon like a crossbow or gun. That’s not to say he wouldn’t have one of those, it just wouldn’t be his first choice for battle.

All his weapons had been soaked in the same wolfsbane solution. The long pole’s once hollow pipe was filled with a long rowan dowel. He kept the dowel inside by capping both ends with butts. The tanto was fashioned from a mix of iron and silver with a backbone of steel for reinforcement; both elements were particularly capable of incapacitating supernatural creatures.

To be honest, he actually preferred swords, daggers, blunt objects and the like because you never have to reload them. Reloading takes precious time he often didn’t have. He twirled the long pole in one hand and swung the tanto in a wide arc, taking in the weight and balance of each. He took a deep breath, centering himself, before beginning a short regimen of exercises that utilized the coordination of both weapons.

After about half an hour, he placed the weapons back on the rack out of the way and made his way over to lab bench. He checked on the substance bubbling away that would hopefully become Greek fire at some point. It was an ongoing project from about the time he put together the lab, and he was extremely close to perfecting it. He also checked the shenk line of another experiment that should become a relatively stable explosive. Diesel and fertilizer is an old standby, but he wanted something relatively small that would pack a big punch: kind of like nitroglycerin, but without the extreme volatility. He tapped the glass and sighed, it was still going and the reaction probably wouldn’t go to completion for another few days.

He stalked over to the chest containing his funds and unlocked it, smirking at the rows of cash and precious materials staring up at him. He removed about nine hundred dollars for the power tools, tucking the cash into his backpack and relocking the chest. He pulled the long pole and the tanto back off the rack and placed them into the bag slid them through the sleeves of the [bag](http://www.laxzone.com/product/jet-pack-max-bag-307.cfm). He slung the bag over his shoulder and flipped the lights off, making his way up the stairs, shaking his head; he was woefully underprepared for a pack of alphas.

* * *

 

Derek had been training harder than ever, trying to be prepared, or as prepared as one can be, for the upcoming battle against the alphas. He would have to be so far above his normal game if they had any hope of surviving. Even with the Argent’ backing, the scales would be heavily tipped toward the Alphas. They were far more experienced and powerful than the Hale wolves. Derek didn’t know if they had other allies to aid them. They couldn’t even take the fight to the Alphas because they had no idea where they were hiding out. He growled in frustration; there were too many unknowns.

He left the house and made for his loft. As far as he knew, Isaac was the only one who knew about it, and that was because he lived there. He tried to relax and enjoy the feel of the Camaro, breathing slowly to relieve tension. He arrived back at the loft and approached the door, swearing under his breath as he took in the tag of the Alpha pack spray-painted on the door. Was nothing safe? He only hoped that Isaac was out when they came by. It looked identical to the one on the Hale house; they’d probably used the same can of paint. Dammit, he was renting! He was going to have to find some way to get the paint off the door, though he’d probably have to actually paint over it.

He inspected the door more closely. It didn’t appear to have been busted. When he tried the handle, it was still locked so maybe they hadn’t made it inside. He unlocked the door and made his way cautiously inside. There were no heartbeats, so he was alone unless there was a member of the undead about. He inhaled deeply, noting the absence of any strange scents. _Good, that means they didn’t make it inside._

He locked the door and made for the bathroom. He might as well enjoy a hot shower while he can. He stripped, tossing his clothes in the hamper. Turning the water to scalding, he stepped in, enjoying the steady beat of steaming water. He had two days to find a way out of this mess. He could do this… no he couldn’t. They were all going to die, and it was going to be his fault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, guys, I tried to draw a [thing](http://25.media.tumblr.com/7e1091d8e555fba8114b538ed582d005/tumblr_ml7r5hqv6z1r18xk9o1_500.png). It's my first real attempt at drawing anything since middle school, so it's pretty bad, but it's supposed to be kind of like the basement of the warehouse.


	8. Chapter 8

Stiles awoke bright and early Tuesday morning with a sense of foreboding, as well as a dreaded feeling that everything had already started. He made his way downstairs, noting that his dad had already left for the station, and set about making an omelet. While waiting for his egg to cook, he called Derek. The phone rang several times before finally going to voicemail. The pit in his stomach began to expand. He called Scott, same thing. Erica. Isaac. Boyd. Jackson. Even Allison and Chris. If everyone was already gone, why was he still here? He took a deep breath before calling his dad. It rang, and rang, and rang, clicking to voicemail. He closed his eyes in dismay and called the station.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Marla,” Stiles began, “is my dad in?”

“I haven’t seen him today, why?”

“No reason,” Stiles covered quickly, “just let him know I’m looking for him if you see him. He didn’t answer when I tried him earlier.”

“Will do, honey.”

“Fuck!” Stiles swore after hanging up the phone. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” He gave himself five minutes to freak out so he could then focus on finding a way out of this. He took several deep breaths, allowing the oxygen to calm his brain.

His secret would be out. There was no escape from this clusterfuck without his interference and he was going to need back up. It looked like his extracurricular activities were going to save them all: in addition to taking out assholes for fun, he also did freelance work for a few of the relatively nearby organized crime syndicates.

He hurried out to his jeep, pulling three burner cells from a hidden compartment in the glove box before rushing back inside. Choosing to try the Lanza family first, he dialed, waiting with bated breath for Jimmy to answer.

“What do you want, Red?

“I need back-up and you still owe me for the Colbeck clean up.”

“Fair’s fair. What’s the business and what do you need?”

“Trust me when I say you don’t wanna know. I’ll call back when I have the location, but it’ll be somewhere around Beacon Hills. Oh, and bring heavy firepower, in addition to the usual daggers.”

“I’ll send eleven. That enough for you?”

“Should be. Make sure they know we’re on a rescue mission.”

“For?”

“My dad, among others. Those bastards took my dad.”

“Family comes first. I know that, kid.”

“I know you do, that’s why I called you.”

“Let me know when you have their location. We’ve got your back.”

“Thanks, Jimmy.”

“You got it, Red.”

Stiles hung up the phone with a deep sigh of relief. He had back-up. He could do this. He grabbed his keys and made for the Argent’s. Without having to worry about being caught, he could easily break into their garage for more firepower. The Lanzas would need the ammo.

It was easy enough to guess the code for the garage (Victoria’s birthday). He would’ve thought the Argents would be smart enough to not use personal information as a password, but their carelessness was his gain. He picked the lock on the gun cabinets, removing eleven HK G36  assault rifles before moving to the ammunition cache and taking as much ammo as would fit in the back seat. The guns went in the trunk; if he were pulled over, he didn’t want to be violating the “transport-guns-and-ammo-separately” rule. It took him several trips to get his spoils moved into the jeep.

Once everything was secure, he ventured into the house, hoping to find a clue as to where the alphas took them. It was clear that Chris and Allison didn’t go without a fight: there was blood and broken furniture everywhere, shell casings littered the floor. There was no clue as to where they were taken, just a message scrawled in blood on the floor: so much for back up, honey.

Stiles stared for a minute before shaking himself. He needed to figure out where they’d gone. He drove back to his house, just to leave again, following his father’s normal route to work. He pulled off the road as his eye caught a strange hole in the foliage. He grabbed the tanto and walked cautiously into the woods, gasping sharply as a cruiser came into view.

There wasn’t much damage to the cruiser, just some scratches from where it’d been forced off the road. There was just a small splatter of blood on the driver’s window, not enough to be life-threatening, but it made his blood boil. They’d harmed his father, and for that they would pay with their lives. He pulled a small piece of paper from under the windshield wiper, unfolding it to read, “old paper mill” and nothing more.

It didn’t make sense to Stiles, they were after Derek, why lay a trap for him?

The wolves had been holding training at the Hale house for the past few days, so Stiles made his way there, hoping to find some clue as to the alphas’ motivation. The clearing was a disaster area. Broken trees littered the ground and the front of the house had been smashed in. The amount of blood was alarming, if any of them had been human, they wouldn’t have survived.

He cautiously made his way inside, only to see another message scrawled in blood across the ashen floor. _They’re still alive. For now._ Stiles’ blood boiled and his vision went red. He turned and threw a punch, breaking through the wall to his left. The pain helped to clear his head.

It still didn’t make sense why they went to the trouble of kidnapping everyone _except him_. They were after Derek, who they had now captured, why did they want him to come to them? The lack of logic aggravated him to no end; he was missing something, and he just couldn’t figure out what.

* * *

 

It had been a total blood bath. The alphas had attacked while they were training, and they were hopelessly outclassed. They systematically ripped into the betas before knocking them unconscious. The betas had managed some good hits, but nothing severe enough. He’d been busy fighting Catherine, unable to help his betas, until it was just him against seven alphas. They’d shredded him before putting him out of his misery and he just saw black.

He groaned back into consciousness, even with accelerated healing, he ached everywhere and his head pounded. He burned where the chains he was wrapped in touched his skin, probably wolfsbane. He squinted at his surroundings, taking in the various states of his fellow captives. Erica, Boyd, Isaac, Scott, Peter, and Jackson were all unconscious and fairly bloody while Chris and Allison were chained and glaring angrily at each other while speaking in hushed tones. Melissa, Lydia, and the Sheriff were handcuffed to each other, looking fairly lost at their predicament. Then it hit him: the only person missing was Stiles.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't feel like I should drag the exposition to the confrontation with the alphas, so we skipped ahead a bit. I also wanted to note that Stiles was Red long before he ran with wolves.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken so long. This chapter is (significantly) longer, and I wanted to get pretty far into Chapter 10 before I posted 9 in case I needed to change anything.  
> Everyone's comments were so wonderful; thank you for taking the time to read and comment :)

Stiles stopped in at city hall to check the records for blueprints of the old paper mill, making sure no one saw him breeze through. It wouldn’t do to rush in without a plan. He’d meet with Lanza’s men outside of town, but far enough away from the paper mill that the alphas shouldn’t be able to hear them. It wouldn’t do to have a firefight in broad daylight, so they should attack around nightfall. He called Jimmy to have the men meet him at another one of ‘his’ warehouses, this one repurposed as a shooting and test range.

He’d parked the jeep inside the warehouse and unloaded the arsenal he was sharing onto two tables resting to the side of the room. He spread the nabbed blueprints across a third table, weighing down the corners with bullets. According to them, there were three entrances and five large rooms on each of the two floors plus a single room attic. There didn’t appear to be any sort of basement. Including himself, he had twelve men so that would be four men for each entrance. They would do a full sweep, in all likelihood they would be in the last place they looked because that’s how Stiles’ luck went, but they needed to make sure the alphas wouldn’t be hiding out in another part of the mill. Back-up would arrive within the hour and they could plot together.

* * *

 

Jimmy himself was among the men who rolled up in black SUVs. “We’ll get them back,” he assured, placing a supportive hand on Stiles’ shoulder.

Stiles gave a quick nod. “I know we will. Come inside, I’ve set up a sort of operations center.”

“You always do like to be prepared, don’t you?” Jimmy grinned, walking with Stiles inside.

“I know you guys brought weaponry, but these will work better for our adversaries.” He lowered his voice, “Do you know anything about the supernatural?”

“I’ve come across a few werewolves in my time, but not much.”

Stiles dipped his head, “I run with the local pack. They were among those taken.”

“How did they manage that?”

“It’s another pack, they want to recruit our alpha, but that wouldn’t end well for us. There really wasn’t a good way for this to end.”

“And that’s where we come in.”

“Exactly. These guns have ammunition laced with Nordic monkshood which is deadly to werewolves, although at the moment they aren’t loaded”

“So we’ll use your guns. You know they’re all gonna know about your activities now.”

“I know, but it can’t be helped. I have to choose between saving my family and keeping my secret. There’s no contest.” He turned and walked to where the blueprints were laid out. “They’re keeping them at the old paper mill, we’ll divide into groups of four and for each entrance. A full sweep of the building. I suspect they’re being kept in the attic, but I want to be thorough so we don’t fight two fronts. We’re going to decimate the other pack.”

“Good thinking. I can take one group, you can take another, and Joe can lead the third.” He motioned to one of the men congregating at the gun table.

“Sounds good,” Stiles turned to address the men, “If you want to try out they weaponry, there are normal bullets in that chest and the range is set up over there.”

“When should we leave?”

“Let the men get a feel for the weapons, we’ll explain the plan, and then head out.”

* * *

 

“Hale,” the Sheriff spoke, his voice controlled, “would you like to explain what the hell is going on? Melissa said you’ve probably got the answers.”

“Um, werewolves?”

“Lord, you sound like my son when he doesn’t want to explain something,” John commented exasperatedly, “elaborate.”

“With the exceptions of Chris, Allison, and you three, we’re werewolves. Assuming the ones who’d threatened us are the only ones, our captors are also werewolves.”

“Prove it.” Derek partially shifted his face before shifting back. John stared at him thoughtfully before speaking, “This is what Stiles has been hiding.”

“Yes.”

“That wasn’t a question. Where is he? Seeing as everyone even peripherally involved seems to be here.”

“I don’t know.”

“Is that bad?”

“…I don’t know.”

“If they’ve hurt my son, they’ll wish they didn’t,” He growled before muttering, “and if they’ve left him be they’ll probably pay with their lives.”

Derek paled. What didn’t they know about Stiles? “What do you mean?”

“You heard that?”

“Superhearing.” He tried to gesture, but the chains prevented it.

“Ah. Well that’s Stiles’ secret, even I don’t know all of it, but I imagine we’ll probably find out.”

Derek nodded dumbly; his mind wandering to Stiles’ behavior and demeanor. Recently, he’d been more biting than usual, and there was always an unexplainable, underlying current of danger around him.

He glanced over at the betas; they were still out cold and wouldn’t be any help even if they did regain consciousness. Alpha wounds took significantly longer to heal than normal injuries.

“Will they be okay?” Melissa asked, staring wide-eyed at Scott.

“They should be. I heal faster because I’m an alpha and they’re just betas.”

Lydia appeared to be focusing on an arbitrary point, but had a shrewd, calculating look on her face. Her gaze snapped to Peter and the look sharpened. “He was the one that attacked me at the formal.”

“Yes. We killed him, but you brought him back.”

“He was terrorizing me in _my mind_ ,” she retorted annoyed.

“My, my you are an interesting group,” Catherine purred as she strode into the room, her pack filling in behind her. They turned as one to look at her, glaring. “Not very talkative today?”

“Oh I’m sorry. You expect me to entertain you after you kidnapped my pack?”

“Feisty.” She grinned, trailing a claw down his cheek. “You know you’re missing a member…”

“What did you do to my son?”

“We haven’t done anything, yet. I wonder if he’s figured out you’re missing yet,” She mused. “One human all alone to rescue you lot. I’ll tell you what’s going to happen: the puny human is going to try and save you, we’re going to slaughter him where he stands, and you’re all going to watch. Maybe then you’ll reconsider our offer.”

“I think you underestimate my son.” John commented dryly.

“One human against seven alphas, the odds are not in his favor.”

“You are not Effie Trinket, do not pull that line,” Stiles’ voice came from the doorway. He stepped into the room, Lanza’s men following him quickly, aiming their weapons at the alphas. “As you can see, I’ve evened the odds, perhaps even made in my favor.” He smirked coldly. Everything about his stance screamed lethal ruthlessness and danger.

“Little Red, fancy meeting you here.”

“You knew?”

“I suspected. How many pole-wielding hoodie wearing maniacs could there be around here? Maybe you’d like Hale’s spot in our pack?”

“I’ll have to find a new shtick then,” Stiles mused before spitting, "I have no interest in becoming a werewolf, and I definitely have no intention of joining your pack," He made a small gesture with his left hand and the men opened fire. The largest male alpha leapt for Stiles, but was quickly cut down by Lanzo’s fire.

The other alphas roared in anger at the loss of their packmate. The alphas split groups of two, working to tag team the three groups of Lanza’s men. The twins moved in tandem, managing to swipe two of Joe’s group before being put down.

The dark-haired alpha girl favored swiping with her clawed feet, but Stiles intervened before she could catch Lanza. He viciously slashed with his blade, making long slices on either side of her neck and severing the carotid arteries. She fell with a faint cry, already mostly dead as she bled out; her body failing to heal her due to the wolfsbane and mountain ash now lining her wounds. Her partner, a lean man, snarled and jabbed another of Lanza’s men before Lanza was able to put a bullet in his skull.

A deceptively weaker alpha, a petite blonde, was able to kill one of Stiles’ group before Stiles ran her through and forced the blade out to either side, effectively bisecting her.

With the rest of her pack slaughtered, Catherine stood in shock, remarking, “You left me alive,”

“Only because you deserve worse than a quick death.” Stiles hissed, beginning to circle slowly, avoiding the bodies now strewn on the floor.

“You think you can beat me now as opposed to last time?”

“If I recall correctly, you fled for your life last time we fought.”

She growled, lunging at him, claws outstretched. Stiles deflected her attack, batting her down with his long pole before making a wide slash with the tanto across her midsection. He danced back as she swiped at him, avoiding her claws. She glared. “You’re healed from last time. How?”

“I have a few tricks up my sleeve. I’m not about to show my cards.”

She pulled herself to her feet, hunched over from the sizzling wound. It remained gaping, refusing to heal because of the wolfsbane. Stiles struck her again with the long pole, a hard hit up the chin, sending her sprawling backwards. Stiles towered over her, driving the pole into her windpipe, crushing it. She gasped for air; her body desperately trying to heal itself. She made a few desperate swipes at his legs and midsection, but while they sliced his clothing, they only grazed the skin.

Blood oozed out of the scratches, but Stiles ignored them. Kneeling over her, he pulled a dagger from his belt. He carved a triskelion and a ______ into her torso. She continued to gasp and grunt in pain, her swipes becoming weaker and her heart rate slowing.

He turned to whisper harshly in her ear, “Those that harm my family don’t usually live long afterwards.” He quickly slashed at her throat, slicing nearly cleanly through her neck. A final gasping, gurgling breath and she lay still.

He rose and motioned for Jimmy and his men to help him free everyone from their bonds. Once everyone had been freed and the betas roused, Jimmy sent his men back to the cars. Stiles offered him a hand, “We’re even now,” he grinned wryly, “but if you ever want to get back into debt…”

Jimmy clasped his hand and laughed, “You’re something else, kid. Good luck with everything.” He turned and left, calling over his shoulder, “We’ll put the guns back in the jeep.”

John looked calculatingly at his son. “So I take it you’re responsible for Antinori’s disappearance after he attacked me?”

“Plausible deniability, Dad.”

“How do you know Lanza anyway?”

“I don’t in any way that can be traced by authorities. Just leave it,” He sighed, not wanting to deal with a full interrogation. “Look, can we talk about this some other time. We need to leave so I can dispose of the evidence.”

“And how exactly are you planning on doing that?”

“Do you really want to know?” John hesitated before confirming with a nod. “I’m going to remove the mandibles to be disposed of elsewhere, smash in the faces to mess with facial recognition, and then burn the entire paper mill to the ground via explosives. Happy now?”

They all stared numbly at Stiles. Who was this man and where was the Stiles they knew? Derek was the first to speak, “Stiles, what happened to you?”

Stiles sneered and rolled his eyes, “I come rescue you and that’s the thanks I get? Figures.”

“No. Just. Stiles listen, it’s a little hard to fit this with the Stiles that we know.”

“You mean the weak human who can’t defend himself?”

“No, the one who’s most normal out of us.”

“Well that clearly isn’t the case, now is it?”

“And you wondered why I offered you the bite,” Peter mused.

“Shut it, Peter.” Stiles ordered harshly, and Peter just smirked.

“You offered him the bite?” Derek questioned, his gaze snapping sharply to Peter.

“The night of the formal, but you know how that ended.”

Stiles threw his up. “Can we please leave so I can dispose of everything? I also have some stuff that will help the alpha wounds heal faster in the jeep.”

“Why didn’t you say that before?” Scott groaned, “let’s go.”

“She said you’d fought before. When?” Lydia asked.

“Friday,” John answered. “That’s why you were more injured than normal.”

“He’s normally injured?” Lydia asked.

“Only when I go on trips,” Stiles interrupted.

“Trips?”

“I’ll explain later, Scott’s still whining about being injured.”

“Oh c’mon, dude, I’m not whining.”

“Moaning in pain, whatever, dude, it’s distracting.”

The humans helped the wolves down the stairs and out to the jeep. Stiles pulled one of the jars of the healing solution from his first aid kit and placed some into each of the wounds. The wolves hissed in discomfort as the liquid did its work.

“I nicked the keys to their vehicles, so everyone should be able to drive or be driven.” Stiles passed the keys to Derek, Chris, and his dad. I’ll take care of everything and meet everyone back at our house?”

The group nodded collectively before dispersing. Derek lingered for a minute before addressing him, “Thank you. I don’t necessarily understand what happened or how you managed it, but thank you for getting us.”

Stiles nodded, “I didn’t know what I was going to do until they took my dad. If you want to live, you don’t touch my dad.” Derek looked at him in wonder before joining the rest in leaving.

Stiles trudged back inside to deal with the evidence, taking care to dump bleach over the blood to ensure the destruction of any DNA. He set up a remote detonated bomb in each of the rooms on the first floor before starting a fire in the attic. About five minutes after leaving the mill, he triggered the explosions and smoke rose in the distance behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Antinori was a career criminal that attacked John a few years back. He went missing shortly after and was never found.  
> I was torn between a long fight scene and Stiles & Co. just tearing them apart.  
> We're almost done; I think the next two chapters to wrap everything up.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. I'm sorry it's been so long since I've posted, but I think I'm finally FINISHED. I'm so excited because this will be the first real WIP that I've finished. I went back and updated the last chapter to change the fight scene, so you may want to take a look back at that before reading this chapter :)
> 
> We have this chapter and the epilogue left!

As Stiles pulled back up to the warehouse near his house, his phone began playing Secret Agent Man. “Yes, Chris?”

“Would you happen to know where most of my weaponry disappeared to?” Chris asked, his voiced laced with malice.

“Don’t take that tone with me. I had to arm the men I brought in to save your sorry ass with something that could actually kill alphas.”

“Are you planning on returning them?”

“Probably, but I think I’ll keep at least one and some ammo. It could come in handy.”

“How did you manage to get in?”

“Your security isn’t as good as you think it is; and no, I’m not going to tell you how to fix it.”

Chris’ tone switched to pleading, “Just bring them back please. I don’t need to be hassled for missing weaponry I’m can’t report being used for illicit activities.”

“I don’t think you’ll have any problems with that,” Stiles replied smoothly, “I’m very good at disposing of evidence. I’ll drop by your house within the hour and leave you whatever I’m not keeping.” Stiles hung up abruptly, moving to lug the excess weaponry inside. He locked everything up tightly, checking that both the key and combination locks were in place before leaving for the Argent’s.

He pulled up in front of the house, threw the car into park, and hopped out, slamming the door shut behind him. He walked briskly up the few stairs to the door and banged on the door. After a few seconds Chris opened the door, his stance was taut and filled with tension as he stared at Stiles.

“Did you bring back my weapons?”

“Most of them,” Stiles grinned wickedly, turning and motioning for Chris to follow him to the jeep. Chris looked like he’d swallowed a lemon, but complied with Stiles wishes. Stiles dumped several rifles into Chris’ arms before hefting the rest in his own. This time Chris led Stiles into the garage and placed the weapons on a stainless steel table next to the gun cabinet.

His eyes ran over the rifles, taking stock of their condition. Stiles’ men hadn’t appeared to have damaged them. “You kept two,” He said sharply.

“Yes, and you have plenty,” Stiles replied easily, with a dangerous edge to his tone.

“Just make sure nothing you do with them can be traced back to me.”

“So long as you don’t cross my father or the pack you won’t have anything to worry about,” Stiles answered evenly.

“Are you threatening me?”

Stiles crowded into Chris’ space. “Don’t think of it as a threat, think of it as a promise because if you harm any of them, if you step outside of that precious little code of yours, your life will be over. Maybe not physically, but it will be over.”

Chris inhaled sharply, but didn’t respond. Stiles spun on his heel and marched back to the jeep. He drove off for home, a sick feeling forming in his stomach. How was he going to face his father after today? Would he still love him?

Stiles didn’t regret his actions, only that his actions caused his nature to be revealed. He would still do anything to protect his dad, and the events of the past few days caused him to realize his fierce protectiveness had begun to spread to the pack as well. Scott was understandable; they’d been like brothers for years, but having the feeling spread towards the rest of them was a bit disconcerting. Nevertheless, protecting them seemed to have become integral.

He pulled into the driveway with a sigh; it was time to face the music. He slowly dragged himself inside, only to be greeted by his dad, Scott, and the pack. “So is everyone here to yell at me?” Stiles asked tiredly.

“No, son. Everyone just wants answers. I think it was more a shock for your… pack, right?” Derek nodded. “Than for me. I at least had an inkling of all this.” He waved his right hand about in an all-encompassing gesture.

Stiles sighed heavily, flopping onto the unoccupied armchair in the den. “Alright, let’s get this over with. Interrogate me.”

“You referenced being injured after ‘trips.’ What are these trips?” Lydia asked.

“Ah, essentially I go out of dad’s jurisdiction and look for trouble, or trouble finds me. The police get an anonymous tip about whomever it was and they go to prison.”

“So you’re like Batman?” Scott commented.

“Yeah,” a wry smile appeared on Stiles’ face, and he flung an arm over his eyes, relaxing into the chair. “I’m like Batman. You know if Batman did what he did for kicks instead of for the betterment of Gotham and self-righteous vengeance.”

“How are you that good at…” Isaac waved his hand around, “all that stuff?”

“For a lot of it I trained myself. Dad taught me to shoot when I was young, before any of this happened. When I was younger my parents enrolled me in a couple different martial arts to help with discipline.” He smirked. “As I’m sure you can imagine, I was somewhat of a difficult child.”

“Understatement,” John muttered.

“Hey, that was before I was medicated,” Stiles protested.

“We were trying to avoid that. We didn’t want you to be one of those over-medicated kids; however, you did need some help.”

Stiles made a face, but shrugged in agreement. “Any other questions?”

“Where did you get the salve to heal alpha wounds?” Derek asked.

Stiles shifted uncomfortably, “I cooked it up yesterday morning.”

“And?” He gestured for Stiles to elaborate.

“What can I say, the internet is a glorious place with a wealth of information if you know where to look for it,” Stiles replied cheekily, winking at Derek.

Derek just glared at Stiles before asking, “Is it just for werewolves, or does it have other applications?”

Stiles glanced at Derek appraisingly, “It can be used by anyone, supernatural or not, and there are varying degrees to which it can be used for healing. Depending on how it’s used, it can be excruciatingly painful.”

“And how would it be excruciatingly painful exactly?” John asked.

Stiles winced, “If you drink an entire dosage at once…”

“Why did you drink an entire dosage at once?” Scott asked incredulously.

“Because I couldn’t be injured when I came to rescue you guys or I’d just end up dead.”

“How injured were you before?” John questioned.

“My shoulder was clawed up,” He waved an arm at his left shoulder, “bruised ribs, and just your standard bumps and bruises.”

Derek eyed his shoulder before reaching to shift the shirt out of the way. “It’s completely healed,” he marveled, rubbing a hand over the smooth skin.

“Yeah, that’s what a full dose does, but I wouldn’t recommend doing it that way unless you’re close to dying.”

Derek narrowed his gaze, eyeing Stiles suspiciously, “Why exactly?”               

“Well apart from the excruciating pain, I think I may have seized a bit, but the side effects didn’t even last five minutes, so it was okay.”

John and Scott started at the last statement, fixing concerned gazes upon him. “Okay?! That constitutes okay?” John asked incredulously.

“Well I’m all healed up, aren’t I? Cost-benefit and all that jazz.” Stiles retorted.

John sighed heavily and simply shook his head in exasperation. “You’re something else, kid.”

“I know,” Stiles grinned, “and you wouldn’t have me any other way. Oh and I don’t think we’ll have any more problems with the Argents either.”

“Why do you say that?” Scott asked, somewhat fearful for Allison’s safety.

“Oh they’re fine. Stop worrying, Scott. I just had a nice little chat with Chris before I came here and implied that should he act outside the code there would be consequences.”

“What kind of consequences?” John asked warily.

“Oh the usual, I will ruin your life; I have enough evidence to get you convicted of so many things. Et cetera, et cetera.”

“Stiles, I love you, man, but you are terrifying.” Scott shot Stiles a lopsided smile.

Stiles’ smile turned sharp. “Why thank you, Scott.”

“So what do your activities mean for the rest of us?” Derek asked cautiously.

“Nothing.” Stiles shrugged. “They have not had any negative impact on you in the past, and it should continue to be that way in the future.”

“I think that the past couple days have been stressful enough for everyone, and we should wait to continue this serious discussion until everyone is rested.” John said decisively, motioning for the pack to head for the door.

“Thank you for allowing us into your home after everything, Sheriff.” Derek spoke, offering a hand.

John grasped it firmly and nodded solemnly. “I’m glad you all were willing to listen.”

The pack trailed out the door after Derek, casting long, searching looks over their shoulders at Stiles. Scott, the last one out, gave Stiles a nod before shutting the door securely behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Epilogue is basically finished, I'm not quite happy with the ending yet, but I'm hoping to figure out the wording by the end of next week ;)


	11. epilogue

About a week after everything went down with the Alpha pack, Stiles made his way over to Derek’s loft, knowing that he would be the only one there. He took a deep breath and hopped out of the jeep, unsure of why he was nervous at all. Making his way slowly up the stairs, he knocked tentatively on the door and waited for Derek to let him in.

Slowly the door creaked open, revealing a slightly disheveled Derek blinking out at him. Taking in the ruffled hair, somewhat askew clothes, and pillow creases, Stiles smirked faintly. “Did I interrupt your beauty sleep, princess?”

Derek tried to rub the sleep from his eyes before leaning heavily against the doorframe. “Just a bit, I’ve been running on fumes since I got back to Beacon Hills and everything appears to have finally worked out. That means lots of sleeping to catch up on. Who knows when the next shit storm is going to hit and I won’t get to sleep again.”

Stiles stared inquisitively at Derek; his mouth hanging open slightly. “Do you always talk this much when you just wake up?”

“I guess if I have to.” Derek was distractedly rubbing his head against the doorframe. “Most of what I think just kind of comes out. It’s like you practically all the time. Though I guess that’s not really you but something you manufactured. A mask.” He rolled his head before again resting his gaze on Stiles. “If you don’t actually say the things running through your brain, how much thought must you put into the nonsense you spout all the time?”

“A lot.” Stiles sighed heavily. “Look, since I’ve already woken you up, can I come in?”

Derek swung back away from the doorway, making a sweeping gesture with his free arm. “Sure, Stiles. You can come in.”

Stiles trudged by Derek before flopping down on the bed that he still didn’t understand why it was in the middle of the common room. Derek shut and locked the door before turning back to Stiles. “Why are you on my bed?” Derek asked, exasperated.

“It seemed like the most comfortable thing available.” Stiles responded cheekily.

Derek grumbled under his breath, but didn’t push it further and collapsed onto the bed to the right of Stiles. “So what brings you over here?”

Stiles rolled onto his back and pinched the bridge of his nose before letting his hand fall to the side. He shifted again to his side, facing Derek with his head pillowed on his arms. “Everything’s been weird since the showdown. I kind of feel like all my defenses have been stripped away. For all that I can kick ass, my first choice of defense has always been my façade. I never really wanted people to see me for this; I wanted them to see what I showed them. I don’t know how to go back to normal, or what passes for normal these days.”

“That’s always the struggle, being normal.” Derek responded, reaching slowly for Stiles and resting his hand on Stiles’ shoulder.

Stiles let out a strangled laugh. “I feel like it’s more of a struggle now than it’s ever been; and let’s face it, I’ve been struggling for a long time.”

Derek used the hand on his shoulder to pull him closer. “I’d be happy to struggle with normality with you.”

Stiles bit his lip and darted a glance up at Derek’s face before looking back down at his chest. “I think I’m a lot further from normal than you are.”

“What do you mean?” Derek asked, furrowing his brow.

Stiles took a deep breath before speaking, “I don’t think I feel like normal people… I probably have sociopathic tendencies, or I’m just a sociopath. Emotions feel… weird for lack of a better term and when I do feel them at all, I can’t necessarily process them in a socially accepted way.”

“Well I may be more normal in that aspect, but I’m still pretty fucked up. We could be fucked up together.”

Tentatively, Stiles nodded and burrowed into Derek’s chest. “I think I’d like that. I think a lot of this probably stems from stuff that I’ve been avoiding healing and dealing with for years. Maybe it’s time.”

Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles and buried his nose in Stiles’ hair. “Maybe we can help heal each other.”

Stiles wrapped his hands tighter into Derek’s shirt. “I think I’d like that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's a bit of a cheesy close, but I didn't really want to shove Derek and Stiles together at the end. Mentally, Stiles is not in a place where he is prepared for a relationship, and there's a lot of healing that needs to take place before he would be in a place for that. Casual sex isn't something that he participates in because he doesn't trust enough to be vulnerable with someone, regardless of his abilities.
> 
> ...and that's all folks! As you can see, I've decided to continue in the 'verse. I've started working on the prologue for it and I'm trying to be more organized in my plot and structure for part deux. This is my first long finished WIP and I'm glad that I was finally able to finish it. I hope you join me as I continue in this 'verse.


End file.
